


Acting Right Is So Routine

by andwhatyousaid



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Confession In Desperate Situation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Fuck, Trapped In Elevator, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andwhatyousaid/pseuds/andwhatyousaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Sebastian meet in an elevator, and though the circumstances are less than desirable, they become fast friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acting Right Is So Routine

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for a square on my [round five](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/199175.html) [hurt-comfort bingo card](http://andwhatyousaid.livejournal.com/13791.html): confession in desperate situation. This is not what I thought I was writing the whole time I was writing it. Sorry. Grossly appreciative thanks to [Becca](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fallfreely) for being willing to give this a read-through, and for not letting me throw it into the trash along with myself. Title sourced from "Fever" by The Black Keys. Disclaimer: all fiction. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

Chris has been sweating all morning. By the time he’s crossing the sharp-tiled lobby to catch the elevator, his suit’s sticking to his skin like an adhesive wearing itchy and dry. He paid a small fortune for it — a fortune for the knock-off silk material his first agent had recommended, shelling out credit he didn’t exactly have yet. It’s the nicest suit he owns — the only suit he owns — and right now, watching the elevator doors slide shut, he’d rather be wearing almost anything else.

He’s alone while the elevator zips up and he takes the time to breathe, close his eyes, say aloud to himself, “Chris, it’s just a meeting.” He’s had thousands of meetings. He’s just never had a  _second_ meeting before. “It’s just talking in a room with some people.”

He thunks his head back against the wall and stares at the rising ceiling as if it’ll convince him of what he can’t quite convince himself.

The elevator dings and the doors part after a while, but it isn’t Chris’s floor and a guy Chris doesn’t know walks in. His hair’s slicked back and his suit rivals Chris’s — a clean dark black, a sleek skinny tie; he’s dressed the part just like everyone else in the building, must be industry. He meets Chris’s eyes with a polite smile and then glances away, settles in the opposite corner, reaches out to jab a button.

“Going up, right?” he says, and Chris looks over at him again, caught off-guard by the noise of someone else’s voice. The guy’s touching his own tie now, twisting the end between his knuckles, an antsy gesture, his smile lingering at the side of his mouth though. He’s looking at Chris.

“Yeah,” Chris says, clearing his throat. “Hope so anyway.” He offers half a grin in return.

The guy lets out a gush of breath, his face telegraphing relief and he rolls his eyes at himself, at his own nerves maybe. “Good, something’s going right today,” he says.

Chris is about to agree, but as if the guy’s words have tempted fate itself, instead of going up the elevator suddenly comes to a jarring, grinding halt and the noise of metal screeching against metal is harsh in Chris’s ears. The lights flicker with a buzz before they go out. He squeezes his fist around the railing to keep his balance — squeezes so tight his knuckles go white, and shuts his eyes until he sees stars. The elevator jolts through aftershocks and then judders to a complete stop.

The lights come back on in a series of flashes. Chris’s ears are still ringing so he doesn’t realize what’s happened until he picks up on the guy swearing, saying, “You’ve gotta be kidding me, is this real,” banging the side of his fist once on the closed elevator doors like he can’t believe it. He stops right away though, as if he’s suddenly remembered he’s not alone, and then gives Chris a tight, flat ghost of an upside-down smile — an awful echo of the polite one he’d walked in with just moments ago.

“Guess nothing’s going right today,” Chris says for him.

The guy laughs like he can't help it, like it comes out against his will, like he doesn't know what else to do, and he scrubs his hand through his hair, messing up the neat part, and then throws both hands up in the air. “Guess so.”

They go through the protocol — press the emergency button and report it in, and all they’re told to do is wait around, fire department’s on their way, sit tight. So Chris texts his agent — his new one — with the single bar of service he has and says  _in the building stuck in an elevator_. He feels pretty certain that Jim’s gonna strangle him for this, pretty certain that Jim won’t believe it, is going to instantly regret taking Chris on his bill.

Chris sends a couple more texts after debating with himself — _so sorry_ and _will be there asap_.

Before Chris can send another apologetic text, he hears, “Hey, since we’re in here anyway, I figure it’s only polite if I —”

Chris looks up to see the guy extending a hand, his smile sitting more naturally on his face now. “I’m Sebastian. Feels weird being trapped in here with a stranger, so.”

Chris shakes his proffered hand immediately. Their palms are almost the same size. “No, yeah, I’m Chris.” He flashes a grin back that feels like dead weight on his face. “You didn’t plan this, did you?” he says to break the tension.

Sebastian laughs — more easily this time — and fronts his hands up. “No offense, but I don’t think I’d go to this kind of length to get anyone alone.”

“Seems like a lot of work,” Chris says, because it does. Then he remembers they’re suspended mid-air in an elevator shaft and swallows and closes his eyes. Sebastian had been distracting for that fleeting moment, but Chris’s suit is still sticking to him all over like it’s been doing all day, and his phone hasn’t beeped with a reply. He read one time on the internet that there’s only a certain amount of oxygen in enclosed spaces — there’s only a certain amount before it all turns to carbon and you pass out and die. Maybe he should try to not breathe.

“Hey,” Chris hears Sebastian say. “You alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Chris says, opening his eyes, taking a helpless breath in. “It’s just — is it getting hot in here? It’s really hot in here.” He shrugs off his suit jacket, he can’t stand being in it any longer, and hangs it over the side of railing, doesn’t pause before he starts methodically rolling up his sleeves, saying, “Like really hot, that stifling kind of hot — like a really bad heat-wave.” He gets started on loosening his tie; it suddenly feels like a fucking noose.

“Yeah,” Sebastian says slowly, but when Chris glances up at him, feeling his face flush in a hot humiliating rush, Sebastian just says, “Yeah,” again, and then: “Not so bad here, but in New York, summer’s are the worst.” He makes a face. “Can’t stand the heat, gets so humid you can hardly walk down the street.” He walks two fingers through the air like they’re legs.

Chris huffs a laugh, his hand slowing on the knot of his tie. “I grew up in Boston,” he says, “so I know what you mean.”

Sebastian’s face lights up at that. “Ever miss the east coast?”

“All the time,” Chris says, honest.

Sebastian says, “Yeah? Tell me about it, can’t wait to get back,” and makes himself comfortable on the floor, leaning back against the wall, bending one knee up in front of himself, his other leg lying out straight.

Chris figures he might as well get comfortable too and finishes pulling apart his tie.

 

*

 

He’s some time into telling Sebastian about a particularly hot night back in high-school where Chris and his brother had climbed onto the roof to watch a solar eclipse when he’s interrupted mid-word and mid-gesture by his phone beeping.

It’s a few texts at once from Jim, probably from the terrible service because they're all timestamped with the same minute down to the second; all of them tell Chris to not worry, that Jim hopes he’s okay, that the whole building knows anyway.

“Sorry,” Chris says to Sebastian when he realizes he’s been looking at his phone distractedly, his thumbs freezing over the keypad rather than typing out a reply. “Sorry, just — I had a meeting.”

“Me too,” Sebastian says, and he pushes his mouth up into a grin when Chris looks at him. “Guess I’ll have to reschedule.” His hair’s curling over his forehead now, maybe from the humidity leaking in and lack of ventilated air. He must be uncomfortable all buttoned up in his suit like that. Chris wants to unbutton his own shirt just looking at him.

“We’ve — kind of been in here a while,” Chris says instead.

Sebastian nods, makes a face where he widens his eyes and raises his eyebrows like  _Yeah I fucking know_.

“A long while,” Chris says. He’s already memorized all four corners of the inside of the elevator. The mirrored walls have nothing to offer except for a distorted expression of his own face and dampened shirt and legs splayed out in front of his body. "You don't think they've forgotten about us or anything?" Even though Chris knows that isn't true. Jim's just told him it's not. Except maybe Jim sent that an hour ago and actually —

“Nah,” Sebastian says around a laugh. He thumps his hand against Chris's shoulder and the weight is solid, grounding. He leaves his hand there for longer than Chris expects him to. “Not a chance. They need the elevator too bad.”

“You're right,” Chris says. He manages to give Sebastian a strained smile, and Sebastian flashes a genuine one back, and before Chris knows it his mouth is opening up again and he's saying, “It just feels like forever, we've been in here forever.”

Sebastian shakes Chris's shoulder a little — like he’s trying to wake Chris up from a bad dream or something, and says, “Don’t worry about it. They’re working on it.” He looks into Chris’s face for longer this time, as if waiting to see the tension slink out of Chris’s expression, for his eyebrows to quit pinching together.

Chris stares back at him so that he doesn’t glance around the elevator and find nothing new again. Sebastian’s eyes are really blue.

“Don’t worry,” Sebastian says again, more slowly, and Chris watches his mouth shape the words.

“Okay,” Chris says. He can’t, though. “I don't think I'll ever get a meeting like this one again.”

Sebastian’s hand tightens and Chris can see his mouth part, the side of his face scrunch up like he’s trying not to wince, like he’s gonna say something reassuring so before he can Chris goes on, “I mean, I’m sure — my agent, he’s great. This is the first call back I’ve ever gotten, you know? That's all. Didn’t wanna miss it.”

Sebastian drops his hand after a last squeeze and sighs like he gets it. He runs his hand through his hair again. It stays up in a wave over his head. “Yeah, this industry, man. Risky stuff.” He slants a smile at Chris but it’s rueful and too knowing. Chris wishes Sebastian didn't have to make an expression like that.

“Ever feel like,” Chris says, swallowing and then wetting his mouth, “like you left your best days in acting camp?”

Sebastian laughs, nodding. “Never had balls like I did when I was thirteen.”

“Right?” Chris says, straightening up so that he doesn't lose the angle he has on Sebastian's face; he's close enough to see the sharp curve of Sebastian's cheekbone and the darkened skin under his eyes and the long smudge of his eyelashes. Besides, he smells good too, like the colognes Chris has sampled in Bloomingdale's and been unable to afford. “Swear if I could tap into that teenage confidence, it'd be different.”

“To be honest with you,” Sebastian starts and then he cuts himself off, huffs a laugh, shakes his head a little like he's almost embarrassed — Chris doesn't know him well enough to say — but Sebastian keeps talking: “Honestly, I thought you'd already like. Made it.” He shrugs. “Just have that look about you, I guess.” He shoots Chris another grin, so Chris grins back instinctively.

“There it is, that movie star smile,” Sebastian says. “That’s what I mean.”

Chris nudges him with an elbow, laughing right out in a dizzy rush, touching his own chest to ground himself. Maybe this whole thing has been a hallucination — maybe Chris never went into the elevator at all, maybe he passed out hours ago from a heat stroke. It’d make more sense than this guy, a perfect stranger, Sebastian, telling him something like this now. “That’s — you’re really sweet, that’s sweet of you. You should be my publicist.”

“Alright,” Sebastian says, easy as anything, his eyes bright. “You got it.”

“Maybe just tweet about me, or something, when you get famous,” Chris says, looking away, down at his hands fiddling in his lap. “That’ll do it.”

“Not if you beat me to it,” Sebastian says.

Chris holds his breath and then lets it out in a rush and starts saying along with it, “I won’t, that’s not gonna — I don’t think it’ll happen like that, there’s, I can hardly get an audition right. I don’t know what it’s like for you, but for me,” he makes a slicing motion across his own throat. “It kills me. Can’t stop thinking —” He sucks a breath in and then shakes his head and stops talking.

“Can’t stop thinking what?” Sebastian asks softly, quietly.

Chris doesn’t look up or over at him, just clenches his own hands together between his knees until the pressure feels tight and restrictive. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe it was a mistake to move out here, give it a try. It’s fun when I’m doing it, but the press, all this,” he waves a hand at his partially undone suit that he’s sweat through, “I’m not cut out for it. I’m not.”

He hasn’t told anyone that he’s reread his lease agreement ten times over the past few days and called this nervous-breakdown crisis hotline and thought about moving home. “I used to paint.” He hasn’t told anyone out here that either. He shuts his eyes. He hasn’t even told his mom he’s been thinking about it.

“You can still paint,” Sebastian says after a while, just when the silence has started to eat Chris up from the outside in. “I mean, if you want to. You’re just trying something out. I don’t know, no one ever tells you what it’s gonna be like. Hard to know until you're doing it.”

Sebastian’s face is open and earnest. “Cut yourself some slack,” he says, giving Chris another nudge with his elbow. “I never know what I’m doing, either. We can’t be the only ones.”

Chris wishes absolution and therapy always went this easy. He wishes he knew what to say next and all he manages is a hoarse, croaky, “Thanks,” but that doesn’t feel like enough, so he pats Sebastian on the chest, too — finds his skin solid and warm through his dress shirt and suit jacket. He’s gotta be running twice as hot as Chris, at least, all covered up like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sebastian says. He pats his hand over Chris’s on his chest and then lets go. “Here, I’ll trade you — keep getting terrified myself that I’ll never make any friends here.” He clears his throat like he’s nervous and when he speaks again, his voice comes out hard, like he’s forcing himself to unclench his teeth, digging the words out from behind his molars: “Haven’t always lived here, in America, I mean. It was pretty weird in high school and college, so probably switching states hasn’t exactly helped or anything. It’s hard to meet people.”

“We’re friends,” Chris tells him, after a moment of trying to keep still. “We’re friends now. So, there’s one for you.”

Sebastian’s voice shakes a little through his laugh but evens out when he says, “Yeah? I’d been hoping so. Might as well get something out of this,” and he gestures around the elevator.

Chris feels a flush of relief and it isn’t hard to find a grin for Sebastian, who gives him one back.

“Alright, as your friend, I feel like I’ve gotta ask you,” Chris says, “aren’t you hot in there?” He squints at Sebastian. “I’m sweating just looking at you.”

Sebastian looks down at himself as if surprised, his eyebrows raised. It takes him a minute — he smooths his hand down his tie and looks uncomfortably at his shiny shoes — and then he agrees, starts taking off his clothes, and Chris doesn’t know how else — it’s been — he never thought he’d say this, especially not at first, but if he had to get stuck in an elevator with anyone, he’s glad it’s Sebastian, he’s glad — and he just wants to say thanks, again, meaningfully, so he folds Sebastian’s jacket for him, awkwardly with his huge clumsy hands and tries not to get it any more damp than it is, and then he kind of without thinking helps Sebastian take his shoes off, unlace them, fold his socks and slip them inside.

Chris even reaches out to help unknot Sebastian’s tie, but Sebastian goes for it at the same time and their hands touch, and Chris jerks his hands back like he’s been burned, his face hot like he really has been — like he’s burning up right now.

“Sorry, sorry,” Chris says, folding his fingers away into his palms so that he doesn’t touch again, crouched in front of Sebastian.

“That’s okay,” Sebastian's saying over him, slowly tugging his tie free. “It’s alright.” He’s looking into Chris’s face, his eyebrows furrowing like he’s confused about the apology or — curious, maybe.

“Cool,” Chris says, mostly to himself. “Okay.” His hand still feels hot, burned, like his face, like Sebastian’s skin had been through his shirt, like Sebastian probably still feels through his shirt. Chris reaches out to touch Sebastian’s tie again, the end of it, not the knot, and Sebastian doesn’t stop him. His face relaxes, too, though one eyebrow is still quirked up — still curious, or attentive. Waiting.

So Chris isn’t thinking at all, only looking, when he gently pulls at the tie and leans forward and kisses him, in thanks, just to say thanks. Sebastian’s mouth is soft and damp under his, but it doesn’t open. Chris pulls away and there’s a quiet wet sound in the dead silence. Sebastian’s eyes are right there, wide open and very blue.

“Sorry,” Chris says again in a rush, his face fucking flaming now. He doesn't move his head back, though. “I don’t know why I —”

Sebastian draws in a breath and keeps his gaze steady on Chris’s face even though his own is going pink as he leans forward and kisses Chris back, tentative and then more firmly, and then again and again until Chris’s whole mouth is tingling.

Chris cups Sebastian's jaw for a better angle, wants to shuffle closer, drop to his knees rather than hold himself up on his haunches. He opens his mouth and Sebastian follows his cue so readily that Chris can't wait — he does just that, settles on his knees in the space between Sebastian's open bent legs and braces a hand on the elevator wall behind Sebastian's head, presses closer. Sebastian lets loose a soft noise and Chris's fingers tighten on the side of his face. He's afraid it's gonna hurt, but Sebastian just makes another noise, his mouth falls slack, and Chris groans.

They wrestle Sebastian out of his tie, and Chris goes for his shirt, too, but he can’t get a grip on the tiny immaculate buttons, and Sebastian laughs against his mouth, light and sweet, and Chris says, “Sorry, sorry, I can’t,” and he doesn’t know how he means to finish that thought — is afraid he's gonna say  _stop_ , but Sebastian just stills Chris’s hands in his against his chest, his skin hot to the touch, and shakes his head.

“I’ve got it,” Sebastian says, his mouth brushing against Chris’s as he talks.

It’s hard to argue with Sebastian’s fingers working slowly and delicately between Chris’s hands, unbuttoning his own shirt like Chris has wanted to do for hours now, and his mouth nudging against Chris’s, coaxing him into kissing again — Chris just feels bad, that’s all, having Sebastian take care of another thing like that, after all he’s said for Chris.

“I can,” Chris starts to say, distracted by Sebastian biting at his lower lip and the swath of his heated tan skin being revealed. “I could — do that. For you.” He touches the next button half-way down, above Sebastian’s belly-button.

Sebastian swallows and his eyes flutter shut before he opens them, looks into Chris’s face intently. “Do you want to?” he asks, his face flushing. Embarrassed again, or nervous. Chris still can’t tell.

“Yes,” Chris says, so he does, and he watches Sebastian’s chest shudder with his next breath.

“You look much more comfortable now,” Chris mutters, unfastening the last button, separating the material of his shirt. Because Sebastian does — with his shoulders slumped into the wall not from resignation, but relaxation; his hair pushed off of his forehead, which Chris must’ve done without realizing; color on his face and his eyes bright, but not from any external heat, not just from the humidity; his mouth reddened like lipstick’s been smeared across it. Then Chris notices the bulge at the front of his pants and amends: “Well, mostly.” He can sympathize; he’s thickening up, too.

“Mostly,” Sebastian agrees, half of his mouth rising in a grin. “Thanks.”

Chris leans back in to kiss him again, resting his hands on Sebastian’s thighs. “I can help with that, too.”

Sebastian laughs, and it tastes so sweet, just like the hard-candies Chris has been buying relentlessly for the past week to quell his nerves as if he’s a smoker trying to break a habit. It’s so sweet that Chris kisses him again and this time when both of their mouths bloom open, Chris fucks his tongue into Sebastian’s mouth, slides his palms up Sebastian’s thighs to the crease of his hips. Sebastian hooks an arm around the back of Chris’s neck to keep him close, the bend of his elbow and forearm a damp, sweaty weight on Chris’s shoulders, his mouth hot and slick beneath Chris’s.

Chris tucks his fingers into Sebastian’s waistband, pulls a little, and Sebastian laughs a little against him, his hips jerking forward.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” Sebastian says into Chris’s shoulder, tucking his heated face against Chris’s throat.

“Weirder than all of high school?” Chris says, trying not to think about it too much.

“Weirder,” Sebastian says, and Chris can feel his grin. “But much better.” He kisses the side of Chris’s neck, and then nudges his nose along the underside of Chris’s jaw; his hand that’s not around Chris’s shoulder finds the untucked bottom of Chris’s shirt, slides beneath it until he’s touching Chris’s skin.

Chris tries not to moan at just the feeling of it — but Sebastian has really nice hands, Chris had seen from that first moment, when he was touching his tie and looking at Chris all the way from the other side of the elevator after he walked in, and Chris can’t help from rising into it, willing Sebastian’s hand to not stop moving — up his stomach to his pecs, down again in a sweep, slipping across the sweaty skin at the small of his back — as Chris kisses him, long and thorough.

Then Chris rides his hand along the ridge of Sebastian’s cock in his pants, and Sebastian’s hips jerk up again, unbidden, and he accidentally bites down on Chris’s lip hard, moaning, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, that’s,” Sebastian says at the same that Chris is saying, “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, sucking in a breath as Chris palms Sebastian through his pants, gentle and unasking. Sebastian’s already hard, and it makes Chris feel like he’s burning up worse than the being caught in the elevator for all this time has done. Sebastian’s whole chest is flushed, too — his mouth hanging slack and open, his eyes half-closed. Just from kissing. Just from Chris trying to — show his appreciation.

“I know this isn’t any casting couch,” Chris says, his mouth flaring up with a grin while he watches Sebastian biting his own lip now, like he’s trying to keep a sound in, his face scrunching up with what’s almost a wince. “But if it’s okay, like you said, if that’s really alright, I’d —” He looks back down at his hand on Sebastian through his pants, can see the whole shape of his cock. He pops open the button on Sebastian’s pants, slides down the zip slowly. Sebastian doesn’t tell him to stop, but Chris doesn’t hear him breathing either. Maybe that’s from his own blood rushing through his ears, though.

Sebastian’s cock’s bulging out of his tight boxer-briefs, the head stretching the waistband out, leaving a damp spot in its wake, and Chris touches him with his palm again so that he doesn’t fall face first into Sebastian’s lap, get his mouth on him immediately. He wants to, though. That’s what he’s trying to say. He wants to.

He kisses Sebastian’s mouth instead until Sebastian’s opened up for him once more, warm and wet, his tongue at Chris’s teeth, his hands fisted in Chris’s hair and inside the back of his shirt, his legs splayed open further. He keeps making little noises into Chris’s mouth, almost like he doesn’t mean to — Chris wishes this wasn’t the first time, so he could read it better, but he’s sure it’s only encouragement for Chris’s hand ghosting in a tease along the heft of Sebastian’s cock and the insides of his thighs.

“This is what I’d like to —” Chris says, pulling away, leaving a kiss against Sebastian’s cheek and jaw and the flushed column of his throat before Chris shifts back for more room and bends on his knees at what feels like an impossible angle for a moment until he’s breathing over Sebastian’s hard and trapped cock, ducked between his legs. Chris rests his forehead against Sebastian’s flat, quivering stomach and says, low and gravelly, “Don’t know how else to thank you. Will you let me?”

“You don’t have to,” Sebastian’s saying — almost hissing, like it hurts to get out, like maybe it hurts for Chris to tug his boxer-briefs down until his cock is free and slapping up against his tummy even though he’s lifting his hips up from the floor to help. “You really don’t have to.”

Chris looks up and Sebastian’s face is broken open, his hair ruined and sticking to his forehead, curling, his pupils blown, his cheeks gone so pink — almost as pink as his mouth. So Chris shushes him and then tries not to break the eye contact while he takes the head of Sebastian’s cock into his mouth. Chris can’t keep his eyes open after that — they shut on reflex and his whole face twists up because Sebastian’s big, and he tastes good, kind of sweet, and he's stretching Chris’s mouth out, full and heavy on his tongue. It’s been too long since Chris has done this; he hasn’t had anyone to do it with for a while now.

He can’t help from moaning, either, as he sinks down, fisting the base of Sebastian’s cock with one hand, his other holding Sebastian’s thigh open. Sebastian’s moaning too, though, Chris can hear him over the loud sounds of their breathing and the wet noise of Chris sucking Sebastian in, tonguing at the underside of his cock.

“Jesus,” Sebastian says, hoarse like he’s the one sucking cock. “You really don’t —” He cuts off in a muffled groan as if he’s thrown his arm over his face when Chris takes him in as deeply as he can. His hips jar minutely, he can’t seem to help it, and his hand rakes through Chris’s hair until he's grabbed a handful where it's longer at the front.

“Jesus Christ,” Sebastian says, breathless.

Chris groans around him and Sebastian’s hand in his hair pulls sharply, so Chris does it again and then tries to relax his throat to take Sebastian in further. Sebastian makes a choked off noise and swears and Chris isn’t sure at all what he’s saying between the buzzing in his own head and how bad his own cock’s fucking aching and the feel of Sebastian sliding into his open throat, Sebastian’s hand so tight in Chris’s hair that Chris thinks his whole head might pop off. But it’s so good — Sebastian unable to help his hips jerking up into the tight wet heat of Chris’s mouth, Chris taking him in again and again.

“Fuck,” Sebastian's saying. “Oh, fuck, I’ve never,” and Chris hasn’t ever either — hasn’t even dreamed of being in a broken-down elevator on his knees for anyone, doesn’t know if he could’ve dreamed it would be this good — but then Sebastian says: “No one’s ever done this for me before,” his voice breaking up all over the place between huge, caught breaths.

Chris isn’t sure he heard right. He swallows Sebastian down again, and there’s no mistaking it when Sebastian says, “Fuck, that’s good, you’re really good, I — didn’t know it would be like this.”

Chris pulls off slowly and jerks Sebastian off with his hand, tight and slick. “Really?” he says, his voice going low and hoarse.

Sebastian’s face flushes anew. Embarrassed or nervous again, maybe. He shakes his head and closes his eyes like he doesn’t want to have to look at Chris while he says, “I’ve never been with anyone,” gritting the words out. His eyebrows are drawn together, but Chris doesn’t know if it’s from the precome leaking steadily from his wet cock and the way his hips are jerking up in sharp little punches or if it’s because of what he’s admitting.

“Never?” Chris says. He can’t help his surprise — a guy with a face like Sebastian’s, with the type of suit he’s got spread in pieces all over the elevator floor, with the smile he walked in with, it’s surprising. It’s very difficult for Chris to not touch himself.

Sebastian laughs shakily — finally looks Chris back in the face, eyes glazed, eyelashes long and lowered. Chris can’t believe it. “Never. Just never happened.” Then he groans, his face twisting up again — Chris hadn’t realized, he’s been jerking Sebastian off faster and faster, frantic nearly, like he’s got something to prove. He doesn’t stop now, though. Just lowers his mouth again until he’s sucking the head of Sebastian's cock in — and it’s a damn crying shame, a cock like this never been sucked or anything before — until Sebastian’s pulling at his hair again.

Sebastian says in a strained, wrecked voice, “Gonna come,” and Chris jerks him off into his mouth until he does in hot spurts that Chris swallows readily and eagerly. It’s the least Chris can do.

He pulls off gently, lays Sebastian’s softening cock against his thigh, smooths his hand up Sebastian’s stomach to his chest as if to soothe or console him.

Sebastian’s got his head thunked back against the wall and he’s breathing hard and fast, his whole body hot to the touch, flushed pink, shiny with a sheen of sweat. He looks gorgeous. Chris wants him all over again.

“Thanks,” Sebastian says, his eyes hardly cracked open. “Thank you. I —” He reaches out abortively with one hand, unsure where to put it, biting his swollen bottom lip.

“Don’t worry,” it’s Chris’s turn to say. He means it. “Don’t worry about it,” he says again because he likes hearing it.

He undoes his belt buckle and unzips his pants and gets himself in hand, spreading his knees, jerking up into his fist right away. He doesn’t have to lick his palm with the flat of his tongue or anything, he’s already so slick from precome, his hand already wet from Sebastian. “This is fine.” His voice comes out unsteady — still so hoarse, but he doesn’t care. It isn’t going to take long.

Sebastian’s looking at him, his mouth parted open, his gaze dropping from Chris’s hand around his cock to his arm under his shirt flexing from the movement to his half-bared chest to his thighs and back to his face, dropping down to his mouth that feels numb and used. “You look,” Sebastian says, voice thick. “You look so good.”

“You too,” Chris gasps, twisting his hand on an upstroke. He’s gonna come any second. He can still taste Sebastian so heavy on his tongue, both bitter and sweet.

“God,” Sebastian says. “Is this real? I’ve really never.” He reaches out like he’s gonna touch Chris’s cock and Chris comes with a loud moan right then, before Sebastian can, has to cover his mouth with the crook of his elbow as he rides it out, splattering the front of his suit pants and the floor and Sebastian’s bare exposed tummy.

Chris’s suit is ruined anyway from all of the sweat, he’s sure of it, so he uses the shirt to clean himself and Sebastian up.

“It’ll be fine,” he says to himself and Sebastian. He swiped his come up with back of his shirt so when he puts it on again and his jacket over it — no one will be able to tell except for him. “It’s fine.”

The heat’s unbearable now in the elevator though, even with the tension finally slinking out of Chris’s body. It’s so hot, too hot, the suffocating kind — worse than a bad heat wave, worse than a New York summer, he thinks, lying all the way on the floor beside Sebastian, panting at the ceiling, their shoulders touching.

“We’ll get out of here any minute,” Sebastian says.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. He swallows so that he doesn’t let his anxiety talk them into round two or anything. “Of course we will.”

Remarkably, there’s suddenly the loud noise of a speaker fizzling to life and whoever had been talking to them over the emergency line in the elevator is back — telling them the fire department has arrived.

Chris huffs a laugh at the ceiling and swipes his hand over his face as Sebastian responds to the help. Maybe it hasn’t been a side-effect of a heat stroke after all, but it certainly feels like it.

 

*

 

“Hey,” Sebastian says to Chris once they’re out safely, returned to the lobby with its recycled air-conditioned breeze settling through their hair, against their still-flushed skin. “Look, I know you said we’re friends and all,” he gives Chris a rueful and too knowing smile, but Chris doesn’t mind this one; it’s genuine. “So, if you wanna, I don’t know, exchange numbers or something.” He shrugs. He doesn’t look self-conscious, but Chris is learning him still and doesn’t want to take the chance.

“Sure. I'll do you one better,” Chris says, taking Sebastian’s phone from his proffered hand to plug his number in. “There’s this bar a few blocks from here, if you could go for something to eat.”

Sebastian’s whole face lights up. “I could,” he says, and takes his phone back from Chris.

Chris grins back. They stand there for a while before they remember they don’t have to, that they have somewhere better to be.


End file.
